


When The Tables Turn

by DuschaPendragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Mild Smut, Ramsay is his own warning, Sexual Assault, University Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuschaPendragon/pseuds/DuschaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay's been at University for a few weeks now. He's having fun, but he misses the freedoms of home. When he finds a dark, empty street, he senses an opportunity. What he doesn't know is that he isn't the only one looking for some violent fun tonight and when the tables turn, Ramsay isn't quite sure what to make of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Tables Turn

**Author's Note:**

> The product of three hours sleep and a really fucked up dream. I don't usually write these kind of stories but it was stuck in my head all day and it isn't something I want lodged in there forever. Anyways, enjoy!

 

The road he had chosen was cloaked in darkness. Hardly anyone had dared to walk down it on their way into town, choosing instead to take the long route along the main road. But still he waited.  
He guessed it was the early hours of the morning. Soon enough, his fellow students would come stumbling back to their beds, pissed out of their minds, hoping for a decent sleep and a miraculous cure for their hangovers before their first lecture at nine that morning. Some, he hoped, would seek a quicker way home so they could reach the safety of their warm beds sooner than the others. Some would choose the dark road that they had avoided on their way to town. If Ramsay was lucky.

The bus shelter he had chosen to lurk in was warm enough. There was hardly any gum stuck to the bench and so much graffiti on the walls that he had been entertained for hours deciphering each one. He’d even added his own, though he made his a lot more permanent. By now though, ‘Joffrey Baratheon is an inbred cunt’ carved into the wall had lost its charm. But he wouldn’t give in. He had ditched a night out with his ‘mates’ for this experience. Being at university was fun and all, but he missed the freedom he’d had at home. At least there he had had the space to hunt and make sport out of it. He had tried it once here, outside one of the clubs, but he couldn’t risk getting caught and had to restrict it to the alleyway behind the club. Even worse, he’d had to gag the girl to stop her from screaming too loudly. It just hadn’t been the same and it really killed the mood. Half the fun was hearing how much pain he caused his prey and coming to their begs for mercy. Their strangled moans through a gag just didn’t do it for him. It wasn’t the same at all.  
So he had refused Robb’s invite to go clubbing after observing that, as nights drew in, this particular street had grown quieter. The perfect hunting ground, or as close as he was going to get while he was at university anyway.

It hadn’t been his idea, the whole higher education thing. But it was a good enough excuse for his father to get rid of him for a few years. Ramsay had considered other options but his father said that prison would bring shame upon their family. Pity. He could have made some decent friends there as opposed to the stuck up twats that he had to put up with here. Ramsay was in no way clever enough to get into university on grades alone. His father had to pull a few strings there. A couple of cheques and several death threats later, Ramsay had found himself dumped outside halls of residence with a stack of books that would see him through his medieval history course. The course itself wasn’t that bad. He liked learning about history. The crime and punishment elements of it anyway.

Outside the relatively cosy bus shelter, the sky had begun to lighten and the town finally slept. It was so quiet outside that he heard the footsteps even before they had turned onto his road. Finally.  
Prey.   
Ramsay waited as the footsteps got closer. Heels. Definitely heels. That meant it was a woman. _Or Loras Tyrell._ Ramsay bit back a snigger of amusement at the thought.  
She was sure footed. Quick, as far as prey in heels went. That meant she wasn’t drunk. Ramsay paused for a moment. That _was_ unusual, but at least she would be more of a challenge than prey that was off their face.  
He waited until she’d passed the entrance to the bus stop. From what he glimpsed, he knew she was slight of build but not short. Thin of limb. Weak. Easy pickings. He would’ve preferred one that would put up a bit of a fight, but he didn’t have the time to be choosy. Yanking his hood up, he slipped out of his shelter and into the night, moving with surprising lightness and allowing his hunting instinct to take over. Oh, how he had missed it. He could hear better than before; hear her short breaths as she ploughed down the road. He could smell better; her sweet perfume mixed with cigarettes dominated his nostrils. He could see better; the way her hips swayed invitingly, her tight skirt sliding, unbidden, up her slim thighs.  
Ramsay licked his lips. Yes. She would do nicely.  
When he felt he was close enough, he purposefully scuffed his shoe against the pavement. The girl kept walking. Same pace. Same relaxed posture. He dragged his foot again, louder and longer this time. The hunters’ eyes watched her head tilt to the left, ever so slightly. He knew she’d heard him. To his annoyance, she kept walking. _Dumb bitch_. Ramsay halted his hunting steps and frowned. Usually his prey would turn at the first sound of him behind them, then they would start walking again, gradually getting faster and faster as the terror and realisation grew.  
Yet this one had barely moved her head.  
Ramsay shrugged and dug his hand deep into his pocket. Desperate times called for desperate and old-school measures. He threw the coins so that they clattered and rolled to a halt behind her. “Excuse me! You dropped your change!” He called. Finally, his prey stopped. Her face reddened in embarrassment. “Thanks!” She called. As soon as she bent down to pick it up, he moved in. Slowly. No need to startle her into flight. He’d give her a chance to flee once he knew she couldn’t escape.  
By the time she stood back up, Prey’s chance to run of her own accord had passed.  
Ramsay grabbed her and threw her against a wall to the right of them. Prey cried out as her face smashed against the stone. Ramsay pressed into her from behind, rubbing his hard on against her so she knew of his intentions. His father had always taught him the importance of being courteous. “Now then, what’s a pretty thing like you doing walking down this dark road, all alone?” He hissed into her ear. The girl struggled, whimpering, pushing herself into the wall. He pushed against her. Crushing her, overwhelming her. “Here’s what we’re going to do sweetheart,” He ran his hand down, over her hip, his touch gentle. “When I let you go,” His hand reached the hem of her skirt. Prey gasped as he yanked it upwards. Ramsay slid his fingers up her inner thigh and traced the lace of her undergarments. “You’re going to run.” She whimpered as he slipped a finger between her folds. “And you’re going to scream very, very loudly.” He played with her for a moment, nibbling at her ear and running his teeth along her delicate neck, moving his finger back and forth.   
It was clear, almost immediately, that something was very, very wrong.  
Firstly, his prey was tilting her head back, leaning into his lips as he worked at her neck. He tried sinking his teeth in but her gasp of pain was soon replaced by that of pleasure. Secondly, she was moving against his hand. Faster and faster. Her cunt grew slick and wet and warm. It was… _nice_. Ramsay found he could not pull his fingers out, suddenly curious about his change of circumstances.  
When her cry of pleasure proved that his prey was enjoying his attempt at tormenting her, he grew angry. He thrust her against the wall until blood marked the stone, then jammed three fingers inside her, as deep as he could get. She screamed, but it was not the scream of fear and pain he had waited so long to hear.  
In one final, desperate attempt to taste the fear and settle his cravings, Ramsay drew out his knife and placed the cool metal against her pale throat. “Run whore, run and scream for me.” He growled, shoving her away from him.

He had not expected this. Before he could raise his hand to block her, she had struck him hard on the back of the neck. It didn’t hurt much, but it was enough to distract him. Before he could make sense of what had happened, she had him up against the wall. “What the fuck?” He cried. She shoved his head roughly against the wall. His own blood smeared amongst hers and he felt some of it trickle down his brow. He tried to fight his way from her grasp but she held firm. _Just my luck._ Clearly, he had picked prey that had attended self-defence classes. “Like raping women do you?” She hissed into his ear. Prey twisted the knife out of his grasp and he felt it kiss his throat. Ramsay ceased struggling. He would bide his time. She pressed her body up against him. Her slight form was not enough to keep him there, but the knife was and a woman’s breasts pressed up against your back weren’t the worst restrictions in the world.  
With an expert hand, she walked her fingers down to the front of his trousers. He could feel her brush over the bulge beneath his jeans. To Ramsay’s utter confusion, Prey began to unbutton his trousers. She slid her hand down and began to caress him, stroking him rhythmically. Ramsay struggled to suppress a groan of delight. “Hmm…that’s nice isn’t it?” She cooed, pressing herself harder against him. There was no way Ramsay was escaping now.  
He didn’t notice when she began to inch his trousers down further. He didn’t even notice when the knife left his throat. Only her hand…his cock…the rubbing….  
“Shit!” He cried as something hard and rough shoved into him from behind him. “How does that feel, huh?” She growled as she pumped the hilt of his knife into him. “Do you like shoving yourself into a girl’s tight…” _Ouch._ “Dry…” _Fuck._ “Cunt.” Ramsay cried out as she thrust the whole hilt into him. When he felt it leave him, he began to tremble. Ramsay tried to tell himself it was rage, but there was a small part of him that denied it, telling him it was shock and fear. An even smaller part was telling him that he had _enjoyed_ it.  
He was still shaking when she stepped away from him and allowed him to pull his trousers up. He wanted to take a swing at her, to beat her bloody. But he suddenly felt weak, as though just standing up was too much effort.   
She watched him, smiling. His attacker was licking her fingers. It took him a moment to realise she was sucking the blood off of them from where she’d held the blade while shoving the handle into him.  
At least they had both gained injuries from the experience.  
“You should be careful out here, alone at night.” The girl placed her tongue against the shimmering blade that glistened with her blood. She ran her tongue along it, wrapping her lips around the tip and sucking it. When the blood was gone and the blade clean, she held it out to him, licking her lips.  
Ramsay snatched his blade back, like a child that had had his toy stolen.  
“You never know what psychos you might meet.” Ramsay was too stunned for words. Myranda planted a bloody kiss on his cheek before merrily dancing away.


End file.
